


The Miraculous Guide to Teenage Romance

by lilacguys



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: 17ish, Adrien Has a Crush on Marinette, Aged-Up Character(s), And Lots of It, F/M, Fluff, Identity Reveal, Marinette is so fond of her partner its a little suspicious, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Puberty, Slow Burn, aka french teenage shenanigans, as little angst as physically possible, brot4 all the way, djwifi on the side, episodic probably?, even if he needs 40 kilos to the head to notice it, eventually, first fic, no plot in first chapter tho, teen for language because I have no concept of decency, tiny hints of ace Adrien Agreste
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 23:23:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8943580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacguys/pseuds/lilacguys
Summary: Adrien and Marinette have been conspicuously smitten with each other in some form since collège. Let's see where two years takes them, shall we?
After all, fifteen-year-olds are a bit notorious for their impulsive , half-formed, inexperienced, and generalized notions of love. Time can change a great many things in the nature of relationships between family, friends, rivals, and miraculous partners.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter may seem like half character study and half my aromantic ass criticizing their life choices, but it's all a means to an end, I promise, so sit back and enjoy the ride.
> 
> As far as I can see, this fic is gonna be formatted in 'episodes' but all pushing towards the finale I have planned. Fair warning, though, I employ willful ignorance of the French schooling system for the sake of familiar characters (basically substituting the word collège for lycée) and really like to use French whenever applicable.

Let it be known that when Marinette falls in love, she goes _hard_. The extra mile. The extra fifty miles, really, right past the nearest corner store (of love) and straight to Obsessionopolis.

Example A) Her fifty-seven posters of Adrien, complete with her own very pink, very heart-shaped annotations. This count does not include any framed photos nor the folder suspiciously titled “ _Gabriel_ ’s Finest Creation” on her phone, which may or may not exist.

Example B) The fact that she occasionally has to take a damp cloth to her computer monitor, which conspicuously features a collage of Adrien as its desktop background, and wipe it free of lipgloss stains. Classy, Marinette.

Example C? She has his entire monthly schedule on a pull-down chart, religiously updated with information on last minute photo shoots and even doctor’s appointments, as if knowing where he is at any given point in time is useful to the girl entirely incapable of returning his polite greetings let alone approaching the beautiful specimen. How she becomes privy to this information is one of life’s greatest mysteries, next on Alya’s “To Uncover” list after ‘Ladybug’s secret identity’ and ‘the real reason Avid Showerer and Actual Model Adrien Agreste always reeks of moldy cheese.’ (The boy can hardly stomach mozzarella, certainly Camembert can’t be his favorite snack. ‘Model diet’ her ass.)

For examples D through BY, see Appendix A (for Adrien, of course) in _The Marinette Guide to ~~Failing~~ Teenage Romance: an Autobiography. _

Or maybe that all should be in past tense.

Over the past few months, the population of Adrien posters in her room has steadily declined from ‘please consider calling an exterminator’ to critically endangered as Marinette realized his smile lacked a bit of its natural blinding allure in that one, or that the sparkle in his eyes was merely a reflection of fluorescent lights in this one, or that, overall, something she couldn’t name missing from his visage left her with a vacant feeling in her gut. She changed her desktop background (to a rather generic artsy photograph the Parisian skyline, but still she could look at it and be reminded of the nights where her polka-dotted feet pound against uninhabited rooftops) and, strangely enough, the lipgloss stains disappeared altogether. As the final blow (although perhaps it should have been the first) Marinette decided that with her notorious absentmindedness and role as both class president and superheroine of Paris, it would be more pertinent to have _her_ schedule detailed to the letter within arm’s reach than Adrien’s.

Boy, wouldn’t everyone involved in the running bet on their relationship and when (not _if_ ) it will evolve be thoroughly disappointed. It’s guaranteed that her parents have money riding on this. She’s certain her uncle put something in (she’s not surprised though, he’s probably the sole witness to a coherent conversation between the two.) And Jagged Stone, oddly enough, who’s never even seen them together. Not to mention the entirety of Ms. Bustier's class. Marinette had been pretty sure she’d never seen the degree of disbelief on Alya’s face that she’d displayed when finally investigating that guilt-ridden folder, now labeled “ _Gabriel_ ’s Finest Creation **s** ,” only to find more _clothes_ than _model._ To everyone’s apparent delight, however, Marinette is slowly but surely recovering from the severe foot-in-the-mouth disease that has plagued her over the two years she’s known Mr. Sunshine himself, resulting from a debilitating crush and, paradoxically, the anxiety over making a fool of herself which had her making a fool of herself regularly.

However, it’s not as though one can altogether  _stop_ being romantically attracted to Adrien Agreste, patient, charming, god damn _devastating_ teen heart-throb model of Paris who happened to be her classmate and one of her closest friends. If the "meme phase" of their first year in lycée never turned her off, she’s afraid nothing will. But instead of diverting all of her energy to coaxing her crush to a rolling boil, it’s simmering on the backburner. It’s freeing, she thinks, to have the title of “Adrien’s Girlfriend” be a fortuitous possibility, rather than a determinant of her life’s success. Let’s just say that two out of her three future children are no longer forecasted to be blond. Well, actually, they are, just for reasons beyond Adrien’s genetic input. Mostly. After all, no matter how many times he’s stolen her breath with a customary cheek-kiss-hug combo or made her giggle (snort) uncontrollably despite his notably deplorable sense of humor or brought red to her cheeks with sincere praise and endless encouragement, a boy is just a boy.

Unless he’s also your superhero partner.

 

* * *

 

In the words of Gabriel Agreste himself, drilled into his heir from the ripe young age of nine years old, “Agreste men are not easily swayed by a pretty woman.” Although Adrien attributes this trait more to his father’s questionable parenting and pure self-preservation instinct from being a well-known model than to the family name, he’s always glad for the semblance of composure it lends him, what with the beauty standards of the fashion industry and his persistent fan base and all. And his partner-in-fighting-crime, of course. Can’t forget her.

The point _is_ , life seems content with tossing pretty people towards his general direction in varying degrees. Some physically toss themselves at him, some just pass through via photoshoots or shows, others give him a look into the depths of their objective badassery on his first day of school, and still more fall out of the literal sky due to yo-yo mishandling. In his opinion, it just makes group photos among the “Bro Square,” as Nino dubbed it, that much easier and more profitable (even though the rest of the group always grumbles something along the lines of “stop modeling for .3 seconds, you actual sunflower, the rest of us pale in comparison”).

Except another favorite mantra of Gabriel Agreste the fashion tycoon includes “an Agreste man never succumbs to emotion” (who knows what advice his _père_ would give if he had a daughter instead) and Adrien is quite sure he has not inherited his father’s stoicism and emotional distance in the face of, well, _everything,_ so he’s not sure how much stock to put into either of these claims.

Despite his self-assessed indifference to physical attraction, though, Adrien “Fourteen Years of Relative Social Isolation” Agreste maintains an astounding investment in romance as a whole. Blame the anime, Nino would say, for Adrien being a high-functioning mess of romantic sap. Also, for Adrien’s dismal attempts at flirtation, and that’s without Nino knowing of his leather-wearing extracurricular activities (of the superhero variety). Not that much opportunity arises for Adrien to make use of what little skill he does have in his civilian form, but the criticism still stands.

This probably constitutes the greatest conundrum surrounding the dissonance between him and his alter ego: the flirting. In a skin-tight catsuit, the boy can cavort around the Parisian rooftops in _high pressure situations_ yowling pickup lines and innuendos at Paris’s most eligible bachelorette; in fact, it’s a veritable stress reliever! But stick him in front of polka-dots in his _Gabriel_ jeans and his vocal chords go on strike, to the degree where he can’t muster anything more than a mumble and fierce blush.

Which is the ultimate seduction technique, _obviously_ , although the puns don’t seem to be doing him any favors either.

At least he can sympathize with Marinette’s inexplicable behavior in his presence, which he’s long since given up trying to investigate the reason for and simply attributes to the latent fear that messing up around him somehow translates to messing up around his father, the figurehead of her choice industry. Or something. It’s probably Chloe’s fault, somehow. To Marinette’s credit, though, as well as his utmost delight, the ratio of coherent phrases to words spoken is looking more favorable by the day, and he now gets to experience firsthand snatches of charm and wit and _Marinette_ he’s only avidly observed for the entirety of the time he’s known her.

All of Adrien’s admittedly fantastic notions of romance can be derived from his singular experience with falling in love and, to his mild shame, copious amounts of anime. When the self-proclaimed love of your life swoops in on a yo-yo and kicks the ass of a magical stone monster and anonymous butterfly man in Paris’s time of need in the first day of your acquaintanceship, you tend to get the idea that love follows the thrill of the other’s presence and suffocating admiration for every single one of their actions. There seems to be a 24-hour time limit on falling in love before the op _purr_ tunity flutters away like a white butterfly. In terms of _facilitating_ romantic attraction, if Chloe’s alarmingly forward advances haven’t seduced or killed him yet, he unfortunately seems doomed to suffer through them indefinitely, unaffected.

One day, whatever facet of the universe- be it chance, deity, or fate- in control of these things shoves someone into your life saying _hey, dumbass, take a look at this_ in a manner eerily similar to Plagg’s abrasive tactics and from then on it’s your job to make it happen, even if your methodology can best be summed up in a pitiful, drawn-out whine sounding suspiciously similar to  _“Love me!”_

No anime ever prepared him for romantic attraction to take the form of an ice pick all wrapped up in a neat pink bow right between the ribs, where apparently he’s been bleeding this whole time and only notices when he’s dizzy and can’t think straight.

Maybe _Kimi ni Todoke_ did.

A little bit.


End file.
